Lamb No More
by J. Langford
Summary: It's six months after Edward's abrupt departure from Forks, and Bella has started picking up the pieces of her shattered life. But within her lies a secret no one suspected — that she's a monster, too. Her transformation leaves her questioning everything — her identity, her allegiance, her family, and, when Edward returns, even her love.
1. Chapter 1

Blackness filled my vision, comforting and familiar. But I could discern a fuzziness around the edges, the telltale sign that light was making inroads. I squeezed my eyes tighter, but I couldn't fight the pinpricks of silver breaking up the darkness, the rosy glow creeping in.

I sighed and surrendered.

I opened my eyes, wincing as I took in the relentless glare of morning. I pushed aside the quilt and stretched my stiff limbs, walking over to the window. The filmy curtains blew around me and I breathed in deeply — hungrily, even — searching for any hint of a much-missed scent. But grass was the only smell present, made sharper by an overnight shower.

Leaning my head against the window frame, I gazed at the sunshine as it poured through the glass, painting dancing ribbons on the hardwood floor. I moved my toes into the bright rays, watching as my skin seemed to mock me by turning even whiter. No glittering diamonds here.

"Bella! You ever getting up?" Charlie's voice broke through my brooding.

"Be right there!"

I gave myself a mental shake, hoping to disrupt the melancholy I'd been battling for six months. It was a constant struggle, and every day the memories threatened to overwhelm me, triggered by the most mundane things — an old song, a familiar car, a similar sweater. But as of late I'd been making a concerted effort to shake off my grief, shamed into action by Sue Clearwater.

My malaise had not gone unnoticed by the tribe, and various members regularly stopped by the house to drop off "extra" food. I was both appreciative and embarrassed, but I just didn't have the energy to turn back into the Bella Homemaker of yore. One day, Sue had stopped by with some fish, catching Charlie just as he was putting a foil-covered plate of leftovers into the microwave. She finally lost her seemingly unending patience. Guiding Charlie into his favorite armchair, she called my name, and when I didn't answer, she found me upstairs, curled up in bed. It'd been a particularly painful day — the spring dance had been announced and I'd overheard Tyler joke about having one less rival. By the time I got home, dinner was the last thing on my mind.

Glaring at me from the doorway, Sue had cut to the chase.

"Everyone is entitled to their grief, Bella. But you've become so wrapped up in yours that you can't see you're now hurting others. You moved to Forks to develop a relationship with your father, but it's like you've forgotten he even exists. He's in pain, too, Bella, and it's time you paid attention." She turned and stalked down the stairs, leaving me reeling.

And she'd been right. I'd been incredibly selfish, and not just because I'd left him helpless in the kitchen virtually every night. There wasn't much time left before I'd be leaving for college, and I was wasting it. From then on, whenever my emotions threatened to engulf me, I remembered the burning shame of that moment, and managed to bury my sadness.

"Bella, I've started the bacon and eggs!" Charlie yelled.

"No no, wait — we don't need another grease fire!" I grabbed a ponytail holder and sprinted down the stairs, snatching the carton from Charlie's hands and twisting the burner knobs from extra-high to medium. I cracked the eggs into a different pan and flipped the beyond well-done bacon. Charlie mouthed an apology over the spitting of the hot grease.

"I'll grab the juice. Orange or grapefruit?" he asked.

"Orange — and can you pour me a big glass? I'm really thirsty," I replied, taking a couple of plates out of the cupboard and divvying up the food.

As Charlie pored over the sports section, I chewed a tough strip of bacon and wondered about last week's midterms — we were probably getting our grades back today. It was amazing how much easier the tests were this semester — probably due in no small part to my functioning enough to study this time around.

"Hey, Bella, leave some for me," Charlie remarked, interrupting my train of thought. I looked down to find I'd demolished my breakfast and had apparently started grazing on Charlie's, too.

"Oops, sorry, Dad — guess I'm hungrier than I thought. Want me to cook more for you?"

"Don't worry about it, Bells. Garretty'll probably bring donuts to the station like usual. I should get out of here anyway." He kissed the top of my head and removed his gun belt from the rack. "See you at dinner, honey."

"Bye, Dad. See you tonight." The front door slammed shut, and I stacked the dishes, nibbling the last piece of charred bacon.


	2. Chapter 2

As I dumped the dishes in the sink, I glanced up at the clock and squealed — Charlie wasn't the only one running late. I dashed from kitchen sink to bathroom sink, realizing I no longer had enough time to shower.

"At least the guys will stay away today," I muttered as I swiped thick layers of deodorant under my arms and splashed water on my face. I was just pulling a sweater over my head when a car honked.

"Dammit!" I peered at the mirror with horror — my unkempt hair had reacted badly to the wool of the sweater and was now standing out around my head in a static cloud. Tentatively, I reached up to touch it, only to feel a stinging jolt. Cursing my head, I dived into my room, grabbed my bag, and leapt down the stairs and out the front door.

"Nice hair, Bella. That a new trend?" Ben leaned out the driver's side window and grinned.

Glaring at him, I jerked open the back door and flopped breathlessly into the seat. Angela leaned around from the front.

"You're not offended, are you? He's just teasing," she said, a small frown of worry creasing her forehead. Angela had welcomed me back with open arms after I'd finally decided to re-join the land of the living, but I could tell she thought I was still fragile. I didn't mind — Angela was a born mother hen, and it made me feel warm and grateful that people still cared about me, despite my recent behavior.

I flashed her a smile. "It's fine. I know I look like a fright. Took me forever to get out of bed today, so I ran out of get-pretty time. Besides," I said, as I caught Ben's eye in the rearview mirror, "I heard that someone in this car was caught wearing Superman underpants in the locker room last week."

"What!" Ben yelped, as Angela dissolved into laughter. He waggled his finger at us. "Who spilled my deepest, darkest secret?"

"Not me, I swear," Angela giggled, holding up her hands in mock surrender. "I promised I'd never talk about your superhero underpants." She squealed as Ben tickled her with his non-driving hand.

"Yes, you did, Miss Weber — and if I find out you've betrayed Superman…" But Ben's eyes were twinkling, and he gazed at her affectionately. Watching from the backseat, I felt my stomach contract with envy. I quickly swiveled my head to the window, turning my attention to an old woman walking on the sidewalk instead.

"Here we are, ladies — school sweet school," Ben announced as we pulled into the parking lot. "You still need a ride home, Bella?"

"Yeah, it looks like it. Jake said my truck would be fixed this week, but I haven't heard anything yet. I'll let you know as soon as I do."

"No worries. It's not exactly a big detour to your house, and Ange enjoys you riding with us, don't you?" he asked as we all walked into the building.

"Of course I do," she said, looking at me warmly. "It's been nice having extra Bella time."

I smiled back at her, understanding what she was too kind to say. Other than in class, no one had seen much of me until recently. But Angela knew I was trying to mend that fence, though not everyone was being so generous. I hoisted my ever-heavy backpack higher on my shoulder. "I'd better get to class before I'm late for that, too. See you guys at lunch."


	3. Chapter 3

My morning classes flew by. As I'd expected, midterm grades were handed out, and I'd acquitted myself respectably. My English teacher, Mrs. Hader, had actually smiled at me as she'd passed me my report, unlike last time, when we'd both avoided meeting each other's eyes. We'd been studying _Wuthering Heights_ that semester, and the familiar words had crept around my heart like icy tentacles. I'd actually had to leave in the middle of one class because I was having so much trouble breathing. It was the first time I'd left class early since the blood-typing incident in Biology last year. But this time, there was no Edward to carry me to the nurse's office. The thought did not help me regain my breath.

Fortunately, the spring reading list had included bloody Shakespeare histories and _Beowulf_. I allowed myself a tiny smile as I tucked the report into my bag. Charlie would be happy — much happier than last fall. I cringed when I remembered that interaction. He'd read through the fall semester's grades, and, as usual, he didn't rage and storm, but I could see the worry in his eyes and the lines between his eyebrows deepen.

"I know things have been rough, Bells, but don't forget about school, OK? You know I'll always be proud of you, no matter what, but I want you to be proud of you, too." His voice cracked as he turned away, turning up the TV enough that it was clear the conversation was over.

The words had barely pierced my cloud of depression at the time, but I was ashamed now. Charlie hadn't gone to college, and he felt the absence of an undergraduate degree keenly. It wasn't that he lacked the brains; it was just that by the time he realized college was important, he was out of time. A star pitcher in high school, Charlie had run with the popular crowd and found partying at La Push after baseball games more compelling than poring over textbooks. Not that a lack of studying had mattered, initially — schools were eager to snap him up and would have adjusted their academic expectations accordingly — but during senior year, he'd broken his wrist in a car wreck. His baseball dreams had shattered along with the delicate bones. At that point, it was too late to make up so many years of lost academic ground, so he folded up his college aspirations and tenderly tucked them away. He didn't like to talk about his past opportunities.

But he did like to talk about my future ones. My good grades had been a source of pride for him since my childhood, and he was eagerly awaiting the day he would see me throw my cap at my college graduation. The very night I'd moved into the Forks house, he'd surprised me with his own contribution to that day. We were sitting in front of the TV, attempting stiff small talk, when Charlie stood up and strode over to the kitchen. Pulling open a drawer, he removed something brown and crinkly and walked toward me with hesitant steps, awkwardly dropping a large manila envelope in my lap.

"What's this?" I asked, turning it over and examining its creased and worn edges with curiosity.

"Just open it," he said, fidgeting with the fringe of the afghan draped over his chair.

I slipped my finger under the bent lip of the envelope — it wasn't sealed — and grasped the sheaf of papers inside. Pulling them onto my lap, I started to read the topmost piece. It was a bank statement. I looked at the account total and gasped.

"What _is_ this?" I stuttered again.

Twisting the blanket more rapidly, he spoke gruffly.

"It's for college. I know I wasn't there as much as I should have when you were growing up, but I wanted to make sure you knew I was always thinking of you. I've been putting a bit of money aside since you were little, for college. Those papers are all the statements, so you can see all the documentation. I know it won't cover all four years, but…" I cut him off with a sudden, crushing hug. The envelope tumbled to the ground, papers floating across the hardwood floor like giant, benevolent snowflakes.

"This is beyond amazing," I choked into his shoulder. "I'm, I can't, it's…" I broke off, and bent to pick up the papers, trying to cover up my uncharacteristic overflow of emotion. Charlie turned away, too, surreptitiously touching his eyes. As if by some miracle, the phone rang, giving us a chance to compose ourselves.

Charlie's generous gift had made college possible for me, and here I was, only one year later, screwing it all up. Sighing at the memory, I hiked up my backpack and walked into the cafeteria, its shrill chatter thankfully drowning out the tap-tap-tapping of my self-loathing thoughts.


	4. Chapter 4

I'd barely stepped into the room when a wiry arm hooked itself around me and eager hands shoved a tray into mine.

"I got you the usual," Mike said, tucking a rebellious wisp of hair behind my ear. "The mac and cheese looked like it'd already been digested, so I gave it a pass." My tray wobbled as I visualized the yellow chunks. "And don't look now, but Mistress Bitchface is giving us her finest death stare. What'd we do this time?"

I snorted, and my tray tilted perilously again. "Who knows? I think our existing is ammo enough." As I spoke, I raised my head and sought out the familiar wavy brown hair and sneering expression. Jessica's eyes were locked on us. My temper stirred, tiny flames of anger sending heat flaring into my cheeks. Gripping my tray, my hands felt clammy. "Let's just sit. I'm hungry."

Ben and Angela nodded a greeting as we joined them at the table. Ben swallowed his mouthful of mac and cheese with a shudder as he gestured at my hair with his fork. "What's going on here? Your morning look not get you enough attention?"

"What are you talking about?" I asked with a frown, stabbing my spoon into a bowl of neon-blue jello.

"You've got dressing in your hair."

I clapped my hand to my head as Angela and Mike scraped their chairs over for a closer look.

"Yep, definitely dressing," Mike said as Angela grabbed a napkin and started wiping my hair, her shoulders shaking with laughter. "How'd you manage that one?"

"It must've gotten on my hand when I grabbed the tray," I muttered as Angela dabbed away the last vestige of ranch. "Is this a new low? It has to be, right?"

"Nope," said Ben, as Mike and Angela shook their heads. "The chocolate milk was definitely worse. And weirder."

"What can I say? I'm here to entertain. If I didn't periodically throw my lunch on myself, what would we have to talk about?"

"Actually, I've got some news," Mike said, looking around the table with bright eyes. "Mark's coming for a visit — he'll be here for graduation and stay for a couple of weeks. Mom's freaking out."

Angela and I exchanged a glance.

"That's really cool, Mike!" I said quickly. "You must be thrilled."

"Yeah, we're all really looking forward to meeting him," Angela added, giving him an encouraging smile. Ben bent his head and shoveled more mac and cheese into his mouth.

The atmosphere between Mike and Ben had been strained since the beginning of the year, when Mike had revealed he was gay. His New Year's resolution had been to be more honest, he told us, before dropping the bomb at the lunch table, of all places. It was a one-two shocker: he'd also met someone. No one in Forks, he hastened to add, before our minds could jump straight to Big Gay John, the camp 60-year-old pharmacist who reveled in his self-bestowed nickname and stalked around in five-inch patent-leather pumps. It was someone on the cruise he and his parents had taken, a someone called Mark. Mike had shown us a picture they'd taken together, laughing on the deck with the sun in their eyes. Mark had shiny dark-brown hair and brown eyes that crinkled up when he smiled. "Looks like he could be your brother," Ben had whispered slyly. I ignored the jibes — Mike and I had become good friends, surprisingly. He'd come over one night to talk and we'd both ended up sniffling into the afghan. We understood each other's pain.

None of his relationships had ever worked out, but he'd always thought it was because he'd been around these girls since infancy — mystery and novelty were non-existent. So when I'd turned up, he'd jumped at the chance to have a relationship with someone shiny and new, someone he could start from the very beginning with, instead of someone who knew he'd once wet his pants in kindergarten and had an erection at the chalkboard in sixth grade. But when Edward turned out to be an undefeatable rival, he turned his attention back to the natives, wooing Jessica and trying to find that elusive spark. But nothing ever ignited, and the relationship eventually shriveled up and died. A few weeks later, the Newtons left for their cruise, and Mike came back a changed man.

Upon hearing Mike's revelation, Jessica changed, too. She turned from a mostly sweet, sometimes sour friend into a 100%, day-in-day-out, hell bitch on wheels. She took Mike's team switch as a personal insult, and blamed me for "encouraging him," hall gossip claimed. She only hung out with Lauren and her vapid cronies now, and although I missed our occasional movie dates, I didn't miss the drama. Mike had nicknamed her new lunch crowd the Bitches of the Round Table, and it fit.

Angela checked her phone. "Almost time for class. We should hurry up."

As we moved to dump our trays, we passed Jessica and Lauren's table.

"There goes Bella Swan," Jessica stage-whispered. "She likes to do two things to guys — drive them away or turn them gay." The group snickered, one girl laughing so hard she sprayed Diet Coke over Jessica's white shirt. "Gross, Jackie!" Jessica shrieked as she scrambled for a napkin.

Mike and I traded a smirk.


	5. Chapter 5

"Bye, Bella! Call me if you need a ride tomorrow," Angela called from the car as I walked up the path to my house.

"I will." I nodded my thanks. "See you, Ben."

He saluted, pulling away from the curb with a screech. As I unlocked the front door, my phone started vibrating, its insistent hum seemingly growing more agitated with each ring. As I closed the door, a flash of silver caught my eye. By the time I'd looked up, the street was empty. "Ben, you speed demon," I muttered, digging through my bag, grabbing handfuls of stray papers and cap-less pens. My fingers finally caught hold of my dancing phone, and I jabbed the answer button without bothering to look at the caller ID. It didn't matter — Jacob was the only one who ever called. "Hey, Jake."

"Hey. I've got good news."

"Truck's fixed?"

"Yep, and it's running better than ever. Want me to bring it by now?"

"Sure."

"OK, see you in bit. And Bella?"

"Yes?"

"You should invite me to dinner."

"Oh, should I?"

"I'm starving, and there's nothing to eat here. And I happen to know you've got a nice big beef tenderloin sitting in your fridge."

"You are freakishly correct. Been spying on me at the grocery store, or does your dog-like sense of smell now stretch for miles?" I asked, laughing as I opened the refrigerator and eyed the meat marinating on the bottom shelf.

"Nah, Billy bumped into Charlie earlier today and Charlie mentioned that he was looking forward to it."

"That's way less creepy. OK, fine, I'll set a place for you — consider it part one of my payment."

"Deal."

I pressed End and tossed the phone onto the couch, where it promptly slid, as if magnetized, toward the crack between the cushions. I made a mental note to rescue it before Jacob arrived. I walked back over to the fridge and pulled out the glistening tenderloin, setting it on the counter and managing to slop only a little marinade down my jeans. Rubbing the brown stain with a paper towel, I started prepping the rest of dinner. Oven: check. Vegetables: check. Chop said vegetables without losing a finger: check times 10. I was just sliding the meat into the oven when a loud honk echoed outside. I jumped, bumping the baking dish against the rack. A small wave of juice sloshed over the side and streamed down my hand.

"Dammit, Jake!" Nudging the oven door closed with the tip of my foot, I grabbed another paper towel and jogged to open the front door.

"Hey, Bella!" Jake said, simultaneously dropping a wad of keys into my hand and pulling me close for a hug. He stiffened, and I saw his nose wrinkle as he released me.

"Yes, I smell like ranch dressing and bloody meat. I know, I know," I said, waving my stained paper towel at him.

"Must be it. Want to check out your new and improved truck?"

"OK, let's inspect your work."

We walked over to the tank of a truck that had saved my life numerous times. Lately, I — well, Jake, to be exact — had been returning the favor.

"Hey, what's with your pants?" Jacob asked as I hopped in the cab.

"What are you talking about?"

"I didn't know you were a fan of the Urkel look."

I looked down to see the hem of my jeans sitting a good three inches above the tops of my shoes. "Huh. I guess Charlie tried to do laundry again. What a pain — I really liked this pair." I shrugged and turned the key, the engine roaring to life. It sounded the same as ever to me, but I decided to paper over my ignorance. "Sounds so much better, Jake. Really, um, growly."

He laughed. "I know you can't tell the difference — it's OK. All you need to know is it's fixed, and you'll get a few more years out of it now." He patted the hood. "Now, how about we get this food-as-payment scheme started?"

I laughed and clambered out. "Nice to see you've got your priorities in line."

In the kitchen, I scooped up a couple of sodas and grabbed a bag of chips and jar of salsa.

"You need me to open that?" Jake asked, leaning against the doorframe and flexing his arm.

"I'm not quite that puny, Jacob Black," I said with dignity, gripping the jar lid with all the strength I could muster. To my surprise, the lid twisted off smoothly, and my energetic movement splattered salsa over the floor.

"Dammit dammit dammit!" I yelled, stamping my foot.

A grinning Jacob bent to wipe up the mess. "This just isn't your day, is it?"

"100% no. I think I'm getting clumsier, if that's even possible. "

Still chuckling, Jacob steered me into the living room and flopped onto the sofa, miraculously missing my phone, which was still sticking out from between the cushions. The sofa itself, however, creaked ominously. Ignoring its protestations, he scooped a small mountain of salsa onto a chip and tossed it into his mouth.

I glared at him. "How about you leave some for the rest of us?" I elbowed him in the ribs and swiped a handful of chips from the bag, which was now sitting on his chest. "So, what's going on down at La Push? Anything new and exciting?"

Jacob took a gulp of his soda and shook his head. "Nope. It's been pretty quiet. No more pack additions, so things have calmed down. Good thing, because Leah's about as much as we can handle right now."

"Well, you can't really blame her." I swirled a chip in the salsa. "She's the sole girl in a supposedly male-only pack of werewolves led by her ex. How do you even begin to deal with that?"

Jacob snorted. "As if it was so easy for the rest of us. And Sam got it the worst, being first, but he doesn't complain. It must suck being the only girl, I'll give her that, but it doesn't mean the rest of us need to be miserable, too." He chewed with force, his jaw muscle working vigorously. "You know she's stopped talking to Emily? Emily's really hurt."

I thought about the unbreakable bond that imprinting had created between Emily and Sam, and my heart seemed to twist within me. "Leah's not being fair. That kind of love can't be ignored or fought. Maybe she'll understand when it happens to her." My lip trembled, and I hastily crammed a handful of chips in my mouth in an attempt to banish the telltale sign. Jacob looked at me with narrowed eyes. He'd missed the quivering lip but had caught the bitter tone.

"Bella —" He broke off as the front door swung open and Charlie stepped inside.

"Hi, Bella, hi there, Jacob," he said, unfastening his gun belt and swinging it onto the hook. "Dinner smells real good — though it looks like you two have already eaten."

I glanced down at the bag of chips, of which only a few were left. "Nice going, Jake."

"Hey, don't blame me. You were going to town on those things, too. I was concerned for your girlish figure."

I lightly swatted his knee as I stood up. "You should be nicer to the chef. You want dinner or not?"

"Fine fine, I'm sorry. You know I'm basically just a big hairy animal with no manners." He winked at me. "Let's go take a look at this meat."


	6. Chapter 6

My right ear tingled. _No_, I told myself sternly. _Don't give in. Do. Not. Give. In._ The tingling intensified, approaching a full-blown itch. I silently cursed, and slowly moved my hand. I shivered as my fingers crept out of the cozy cocoon of my blanket and touched my icy ear. As I scratched it, I looked over at the slightly open window, which I'd stupidly forgotten to close the night before. I'd gone straight into a food coma after dinner, having stuffed myself Jacob-style. I prodded my abdomen — miraculously, I didn't feel 20 pounds fatter. But the movement must have acted as a wake-up call to the rest of my body — I felt a rumble start in the depths of my stomach. How could I possibly be hungry after last night's gorge fest?

Summoning every last shred of willpower, I took a deep breath and threw the covers aside, springing out of bed and dashing to the window. The bare floorboards felt like needles of ice against my warm skin, and I winced as the sharp air sent a wave of goose bumps across my body. Slamming the window shut, I looked back at my disheveled bed, practically radiating warmth and comfort from across the room. My feet had taken half a step toward it when my alarm rang out, its demanding tone burrowing into my brain. I turned it off with a disappointed slap. Time to face yet another gray Forks day.

Charlie and I made it to the front door at the same time.

"Bye, Bella, have a good day," he said, pulling on his coat.

"Thanks, Dad, you too. Oh, hey, I saw you'd been doing some laundry — don't worry about it, OK? I told you I can take care of it."

A puzzled look crossed his face. "I haven't. After my undershirts turned orange, I figured I should leave it to the expert."

"Huh, OK." My mind flicked back to the shirt I'd discarded upstairs, its sleeves a good four inches too short for my arms. "Never mind then — I must have washed a load on the wrong setting. See you tonight." I waved as I climbed into the chilly truck, blowing on my hands as I psyched myself up to grasp the frigid steering wheel.

It was almost a relief to get to gym class and unwind my cold muscles. Eager to warm up, my body responded enthusiastically. My legs sprang, my arms stretched, and I found myself returning nearly all the shots the opposing volleyball team sent over the net. The only damage I did to myself — or anyone else, even — was when I accidentally whipped my ponytail into my eye. It didn't leave a bruise, so I considered it a better-than-average outcome.

"Nice, Bella!" Mike crowed, slapping me a high-five when the game was called in our favor. "Where'd you pick up those skills?"

"In my sleep, apparently. You'd better enjoy my one shining moment, because we both know it won't last," I said, wiping a layer of sweat from my forehead with my damp T-shirt.

"Who knows? Maybe this is Bella 2.0."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves. I threw salsa all over the kitchen floor last night."

"So you're like a baby learning to walk — you gotta start somewhere." Mike tossed me a water bottle and grinned. "Let me know when you want to work on your spike."

I stuck out my tongue at him as I headed into the locker room. But as I changed, I couldn't ignore the small glow of pride that bloomed when I pictured Jessica's frustrated face across the net. So this was what the rest of the sports-mad world felt like.

* * *

"Looks like you really worked up an appetite," Ben said as we stood in line at lunch and I picked out a large bowl of chili, a salad, an apple, and a couple of rolls. "I heard about your newly developed volleyball prowess."

I rolled my eyes. "We are not discussing that. But yes, I'm starving. Thank God it's not mystery-meat day," I said, adding milk to my precariously balanced tray and weaving through the crowd toward our usual table. Angela was already sitting there, chewing a sandwich and reading a terrifyingly thick textbook.

Ben bent down and dropped a quick kiss on her cheek. "Hi, Ange. What're you looking so serious for?"

She hastily swallowed her mouthful and pulled a face. "I missed a few questions on our physics midterm, so I'm revisiting the last chapter."

Ben and Mike groaned in unison. "At least take a break for lunch," Ben urged her.

"Yeah, follow Bella's example. She's got one goal and one goal only for lunch — to replace the 1,000 calories she burned kicking Jessica's ass in volleyball today," Mike teased. I tore off a chunk from my roll and tossed it in his direction, laughing.

"Wait, what?" Angela stared at us, confused.

"It's true — Bella finally tapped into her sporty side," Mike said. I inclined my head in acknowledgment.

Angela blinked. "Wow. That's … unexpected. No wonder Jessica looks extra crabby today." She tilted her head in the direction of the Bitches of the Round Table. I swiveled around, and sure enough, Jessica was slumped in her chair, sipping her Coke with a disgruntled expression. I stuffed the rest of the roll in my mouth to keep from laughing out loud.

* * *

A bleak fog had drifted down over Forks during the course of the day, and by the time last period ended, the air felt thick and wet. I huddled into my coat and dug my hands into my pockets. As I hurried toward my truck, I caught snatches of a conversation coming out of the mist.

"… back … saw at the gas station … up for sale … Alice …"

At the mention of the familiar name, I stiffened, my breath emerging ragged and misty in the cold air. I wheeled around, looking for the speaker, but the voice had drifted away and all I could hear was the low grumble and growl of dozens of engines. I moved slowly, feeling as though the fog was now inside me. I groped in my bag for my keys. _You're dreaming,_ I told myself. _The shock of not tripping over yourself in gym has addled your brain. _I started the truck and stuck my hands in front of the heater. _You probably didn't even hear the right name_, I reasoned, comforted by the warmth creeping along my fingers.

But when I looked down, they were shaking.


	7. Chapter 7

I drove home on autopilot, not daring to dwell on the snippets I'd overheard. My nerves felt stretched to breaking point, pulled so taut I could practically feel them vibrating under my skin. My fingers curled around the steering wheel like claws, the knuckles sharp and white. As the fog outside turned into drizzle, I unhooked one finger and flipped on my wipers.

In that moment, something inside me splintered. A hot geyser of emotion erupted in my chest, roaring through my body and brain, obliterating the numbness that had protected me for six months.

And suddenly, I felt _everything_. The shock of Edward's rejection. The agony of his disappearance. The guilt of Jacob's love.

Wrenching the wheel to the left, I skidded across the road and swung into the opposite lane. I jammed my foot down on the accelerator, and my newly rejuvenated truck surged forward in the direction of La Push.

"Jake!" I slammed the truck door and walked toward the open garage. "I need to talk to you." I heard the clanking of dropped tools, and Jacob's shaggy head slid out from underneath a car.

"What's up, Bella? Something wrong with the truck?" He unfolded his lanky body and straightened up, wiping his greasy hands on his jeans.

"It's not the truck." I stepped up to him and looked directly into his eyes. "It's about last night. You smelled something at my house. Something you didn't like. And it wasn't me." I didn't bother to phrase it as a question, since I already knew the answer.

He flinched, but his voice stayed level. "No, it wasn't you."

"How long have you known they were back?"

"Only since yesterday. Sam had us patrol the woods last night to confirm it was them."

"And did you confirm it?"

"Yes," he said softly.

I clenched my hands so tightly I could feel my nails cutting into my palms. "Were you going to tell me? Ever?"

"No. We decided it'd be better if you didn't know." He took an impulsive step forward and reached for me, a pleading look on his face. "They aren't staying, Bella. You know they —" He broke off as I slapped away his hand.

"And who made that decision? You?"

"It was a pack decision. We all agreed it was the right thing to do."

I felt my anger unfurl within me like a long-dormant animal. "You don't get to make those decisions for me, Jacob Black. You are not my father. You are not my boyfriend. You are not my Alpha. And neither is Sam Uley."

Jacob looked as though I'd hit him. Red splotches sprinted across his cheeks and down his neck. "I didn't mean, we didn't mean … we just wanted to protect you. And after what happened last time…" He trailed off and stared at my shoes.

A fresh wave of rage rolled over me and crashed down heavily on my chest. "This conversation is over," I choked out, turning back to the truck, my insides roiling. I jumped into the cab and threw the truck in drive, kicking up gravel as I barreled out of the driveway. I glanced in my rearview mirror. For the very first time, Jacob looked small.


End file.
